


The Golden Age

by AndyAO3



Series: somewhere (there's a place for us) [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone loves Gabriel more than Gabriel does, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Ideation, internalized ableism, this is about ten years pre-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: The trouble with getting older is that it just compounds how many years of internalized bullshit one has had to deal with. By the time he's reached his mid-40's, Gabriel Reyes has dealt with so much of it he's not sure where the bullshit ends and his actual personality begins.
But the people around him know better.





	1. we are family, no matter what they say

**Author's Note:**

> This, my friends, is a tale in four parts that serves as a prelude to how Gabriel became the Reaper, as well as how the tension managed to build for so long that the official story of Overwatch falling apart because Reyes and Morrison had a lovers' spat became believeable. 
> 
> The goal here is to show how deeply he feels things. I want you to imagine, for a moment, a color picker. Got a good image of one in your head? Good. Now imagine that color picker being at full saturation at all times. Doesn't matter what the color is, it's always going to be eye-bleedingly bright. Now, pick two colors. Any color, doesn't matter. Got it? Okay. Take those two colors and swirl them around with a smear tool. No blur, just smearing randomly. Yes, it's supposed to look like that.
> 
> Congratulations, you now have a visual aid to act as an analogy for Gabe's baseline emotions when unmedicated. This is how he feels things. It's not how he shows them, not by a long shot, but it's what his brain is doing at any given moment with even the slightest provocation. He loves deeply, he hates deeply, he falls into deep depressive funks, and in-betweeny bits are barely a thing. 
> 
> So, with that said? Hope you enjoy.

By Blackwatch standards, it was a routine op. But it was Shimada's first mission with a partner, and Reyes still didn't trust the kid to not just snap and slice Jesse to ribbons out of sheer spite and bitterness, so he'd come along to oversee it. Jesse had him on call if it became necessary, and if it turned out that the two couldn't handle the mission in general, Reyes could easily step in and finish the job himself.

This was why he was in a noodle shop in Beijing instead of at his desk back at HQ. It was also why he had a hard time hiding his surprise when Amari sat down next to him at the counter.

"Brooding, are we?" she asked. Gabriel looked up at the sound of her voice, glancing over as she settled herself onto a barstool. Her hair was streaked with white, and the lines around her eyes and mouth had become more pronounced with time, but her smile was still beautiful.

In that moment, he hated her smile. It meant she could see right through him. Rolling his eyes, he jabbed his chopsticks into his noodles, twirling them idly without much finesse. "I'm not brooding," he told her. "I'm overseeing an op."

"Oh, certainly. As if Jesse hasn't been involved in a thousand sting operations that were infinitely more complex than this one." The girl behind the counter asked what she wanted in relatively fluent English; Ana responded in clear Mandarin, and Gabriel couldn't help but chuckle at the girl's shocked reaction.

Show off. Not that Gabriel himself was any better about it. "McCree's fine. It's Shimada I'm worried about."

"You could have kept in contact remotely if you were that concerned."

"If I were in his shoes I would be pissed at Overwatch too. You can't blame me for being cautious."

"Mm," Ana hummed, tilting her head. "Angela was bothering you again, wasn't she?"

Gabriel immediately bristled. "None of your damn business."

"I see, so you _are_ brooding." Ana pointedly ignored Gabriel's snarl. "I shouldn't have to remind you that she only wants what's best for you. And your health."

"None of the other treatments fucking work, Ana. I can't--" He sucked in air through his teeth, wincing. "--I went off on McCree. Kid was scared shitless. He doesn't even know why it happened, and now he's walking on fucking eggshells around me because he doesn't know if it'll happen again--"

Ana put a hand on his shoulder, stroking him. Shushing him. Gabriel felt like he was going to break at any second; he had to remind himself to breathe, again.

"I hate this," he said. "Fucking-- blood toxicity, or some stupid bullshit like that. I don't care if it kills me, I'd rather be dead than have to deal with all this-- _this_ ," and he gestured at himself, vague as he lacked a description. He couldn't shut himself off. He was keyed up and hyper-aware of everything all the time. When he lashed out in anger, he'd immediately swing into regret and self-loathing, which could sometimes lead to even more anger directed at both himself for being angry to begin with and the person he'd lashed out at for not leaving the room yet.

Anyone else, and he'd call them abusive for doing the same. Anyone else, and he'd advise whoever was in that person's inner circle to cut the abuser out of their lives. How was he supposed to do that when he was the one dishing out the abuse?

He sighed. Closed his eyes, squeezed them shut tight as he tried to calm himself. He couldn't afford to break, not with Talon at their doorstep and the world struggling to justify Overwatch's existence. He had to keep going, even if it killed him.

"Have you talked to Jack?" Ana asked him, her voice soft.

"Jack doesn't need to see this," he replied. And it was true. A while back, Jack had been able to slowly dial down the antidepressants, eventually coming off of them altogether. Then he'd had to start taking sleeping pills just to function. A night came where he took a few too many. Now, he was back on the antidepressants. Gabriel had only found out about it through late-night perusal of Ziegler's files; no one had told him anything. "He's got his own problems."

Ana shook her head. "He still cares about you." Then, "I think he deserves to know, Gabriel."

"What he _deserves_ ," Gabriel said firmly, "is someone who isn't liable to fly off the rails at the smallest shitty foot-in-mouth comments. He still makes those."

"He still needs to be called out on them, too," Ana reminded him. "As for you, I think you're giving yourself far too little credit."

"I almost hit McCree."

"Jesse would be far better equipped to work around it if you would tell him what you're dealing with."

"He shouldn't _have to_ , Ana!" Gabriel snapped. Then immediately, just as before, he regretted raising his voice. He felt sick, defeated by his own demons; he hadn't touched his noodles since the conversation had began. The girl behind the counter was staring at him, wide-eyed. Scared, out of some reflex that told her to be. A big, scarred American soldier was pitching a fit in front of her. She had every right to be scared of that.

Ana wasn't scared. She only watched him, soft and sad as he cycled through a thousand emotions in the span of a few seconds. "You're more in control of yourself than you think you are, Gabriel," she said. "Jack would tell you the same."

"He'll just get hurt," Gabriel insisted.

"Nonsense," she scoffed. "You'd never forgive yourself if you hurt him, and that's how I know you won't." Before Gabriel could speak, she added, "--and no, you wouldn't hurt Jesse either. I'm certain he would be more than receptive to a proper explanation of the circumstances."

Gabriel didn't have anything to say to that. Everything he came up with sounded wrong, pathetic, stupid-- even in his own head. He wanted to say that Ana couldn't understand, but what kind of a response was that? He wasn't a goddamn teenager.

With a smug sort of smile, Ana took her bowl of noodles from the girl behind the counter, offering thanks in Arabic out of habit. She held her chopsticks with all the poise of someone who would never be caught dead struggling with such things. "Think about what I've said, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled back, and she laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd heard all day.

 


	2. we're hiding from the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel takes Ana's advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: One, Gabriel treats McCree like a son even though he doesn't see the connection himself. Everyone, even McCree, knows this. And number two? This is the trust and love and everything that came before the anger, before the betrayal of the fall. 
> 
> Yeah. That's sad. I'm sorry. Please imagine Jack falling out of his chair when he hears Gabriel's voice instead. Better? Okay. Jeez, I'm such a downer.

Gabriel talked to McCree first (after the mission, of course). He inwardly cringed at the way McCree shied away from him when he approached the kid in the hall after they'd gotten back to base, seeing that hesitance already starting to creep in. McCree wasn't supposed to be afraid of him. That was the opposite of progress.

"Is somethin' wrong, sir?" McCree asked him, unsure.

Gabriel waved it off and made note of how McCree seemed only a teensy bit less tense at the assurance. "Wanted to ask how you're doing," he said.

"Uh." McCree scuffed a boot on the floor, pouting down at the ever-present dirt on his shoes. "Ain't got no complaints, sir."

"Double-negative, McCree," Gabriel reminded him gently.

"Sorry, sir."

"Don't apologize. Just try not to fall back into old habits. English isn't--"

"--ain't the first language for most folk, I know." Then McCree winced at his own tone-- like he wanted to apologize, but was holding back from doing so. It struck Gabriel as wrong that the kid should want to apologize at all, that things had gotten all formal all of a sudden. "I, uh. Is there anythin' else, sir?"

Gabriel sighed. He had to say it. He owed McCree that much. Besides, even if it were to go down like that, what grounds would the kid have for judging him? They'd known from the start that McCree had some kind of attention deficit problem; it'd shown up in the earliest aptitude batteries they'd done. Of anyone, he'd be one to get it.

Shit, he'd gone silent too long. McCree was frowning at him, fidgeting idly. "Sir?"

"I," fuck this was hard, "I wanted to apologize."

McCree's eyes went big, all shocked and startled at the very thought. Then his brows drew together in that frown again, worried. Heart on his sleeve; he never bothered to hide what he was thinking around Gabriel. Maybe because he couldn't, even if he tried. "What, uh... What for, sir?"

The muscles in Gabriel's jaw went tense as he glanced around for cameras, for prying eyes, anything that would give up what he was about to say. But this was as private as it got on base, and no one was around to listen in. He had no excuse. "The way I've been acting has been... Unbecoming, of late. There's no call for someone in my position to go off on a subordinate like I did."

"Sir?"

"But I can't promise it won't happen again," Gabriel continued, "and I wanted you to know that, in case it does. So you know that if I start to get too--" he searched for a word that wasn't _abusive_ "--unreasonable, then you don't have to take that shit from me."

That seemed to make something click in McCree's head; he cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was with a little more confidence. "May I ask why, sir?"

Gabriel huffed a laugh. "You can ask," he said. That there was no guarantee of an answer went unsaid. He'd explained as much as he was comfortable with, and the fact that the kid was even asking meant he'd probably taken the hint.

But McCree ran with it, lips quirking into a grin. "This got somethin' to do with Jack?" Then, "--are y'all fightin' again? Could raid Wilhelm's liquor stash, take a night off, talk some shit t'get it off yer chest."

"Heh." There was the Jesse he knew. "No. It doesn't have anything to do with Morrison."

"Alright, well. Offer's on the table if y'want, boss." Didn't take long for McCree to keep on going once he'd gotten some wind in his sails. "Could spar, too. Might even get Shimada in on it, make it more even."

"Hah. Nice to see you've made a friend. Anything I should know about that didn't make it into the mission report?"

"Aw, c'mon boss. You know I'm more professional'n that." Actually, McCree was the opposite of professional. "But naw, nothin' major, other'n Shimada bein' meaner'n a hornet. Can't say as I blame the guy, neither. Otherwise he ain't so bad."

"Careful, McCree. With an attitude like that, people might start to think you fit well together as a team. Then you'll never get rid of the thankless bastard."

"That somethin' you're sayin' from experience, sir?"

Gabriel snorted. Little shit. "Dismissed, McCree."

Only one person left who mattered enough to talk to after that.

\---

"Morrison speaking," said the voice on the other end of the line. Too stiff and unnatural for Gabriel's tastes. Usually that meant Jack was exhausted; he only tried that hard when he wanted to convince people he was more okay than he actually was.

It rarely worked on Gabriel. "Y'know, I had to get through a secretary to actually talk to you," he drawled, twirling a tablet stylus between his fingers. "Seems inefficient if you ask me."

"Gabe!" A loud clatter came through the line, followed by a string of muffled curses that made Gabriel smile. "Shit, fuck-- I-I didn't, uh. I mean." Jack cleared his throat. "This, well. This _is_ an official line, Reyes. There's procedures, and uh. That kind of thing."

"Mm." It'd been years since he'd caught Jack that off-balance. Another bad sign, even if it was cute. The mess of emotions threatened to boil over again. "Can we talk? Off the record."

"Off the-- uh." Jack lowered his voice. Gabriel could imagine his thoughtful frown. "That'll take some doing, Reyes. I'm not gonna be back in Switzerland for another few weeks. I've got meetings, a thing with the UN, a rally, then in a week I'll be on a shuttle headed for Detroit to oversee some memorial thing."

"Yeah, I know." That kind of thing wasn't hard to keep track of. "You're in New York right now?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

Gabriel's tablet was already in his hands as he shuffled his own appointments around, making plans on the fly like the good leader he was. Sometimes it paid to not be on all that short of a leash. "Alright. I'll handle it."

"You'll-- _what?_ Gabe--"

"Don't worry about it, Jack. Just keep right on smiling for the cameras like you're not worried about how your hair's thinning."

"My hair isn't thinning." A pause; Gabriel could imagine Jack running his fingers through the carefully trimmed dandelion-colored fluff nervously. "Is it?"

"You've got a stylist these days, don't you? Ask 'em." It was. Gabriel had noticed when Jack was in his late 30's, back when pressing kisses into it was a more common occurrance. "If it makes you feel better, I've got some grey going on."

"At least it's still there though. Well, when you don't have a buzzcut going." Jack heaved a sigh. "Was there a point to this call? Aside from making me feel like I'm being stalked, I mean."

"Want me to stop?" Gabriel let the question hang in the air, let Jack take it in. Nobody listening in would know the other contexts that phrase had been used in. They'd have no idea that he was grinning, either. "Say the word and I will."

"...No." Jack chuckled nervously. "No, ah, that. That's fine. I figure you're half the reason I haven't been assassinated yet, after all."

Gabriel nodded to himself. Damn right. "Two days, Jack," he said. "Keep your evening clear. Remember: off the record." Was he hitting on Jack over an official line? Maybe. No one would be able to prove anything, though, and hitting on Jack hadn't been the initial intent. It just sort of... Happened.

From the flustered tone of his voice, Jack was certainly taking it as such. "Yeah. Okay. Two days."

"Good." Putting his boots up on his desk, Gabriel leaned back in his chair and sighed. "See you then, sunshine."

 


	3. waters freeze, the wind blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this is the meat of the thing. Jack and Gabriel actually talk for once, and once he's off the record, Jack's a lot more open about what he's thinking. Neither resents the other, neither is power-hungry. When the Strike Commander thing doesn't get in the way, they work just fine. 
> 
> So in a way, I guess the Strike Commander thing DID break them apart. Just not in the way the official story would have you believe.

The wind cut through Gabriel's hoodie as he stood outside the UN HQ in New York, fidgeting with the contents of his pockets. Occasionally he'd pull out his phone to check the time, but otherwise, there was nothing to do but wait. Jack's meeting was running long. Either that, or he'd been cornered in the halls and dragged into another one. There was no way for Gabriel to know.

(It was also possible that Jack had forgotten or even been called away early and wasn't going to be coming out of that building at all, having never been in it to begin with, but Gabriel refused to let that thought sink its teeth into him. Being alone with nothing but the inside of his own head to keep him company never did his mood any favors.)

Cold; he hated it. Morrison's obligations, hated 'em. The UN, hated that too. Didn't hate Jack, but even that was a chore at times, at least these days. Didn't matter that they had twenty-odd years to go on, not when Jack would go silent and sullen when faced with his choices because his excuse was the UN and Gabriel had heard it a few too many times to accept it anymore. He was tired, and Jack was tired, and all the arguing and not-arguing had built up until they'd gotten to the point where they barely talked except about business, and business pissed them both off.

That was why Gabriel had asked for it to be off the record. He didn't want to talk about business, like how the Shimada kid's case was a whole new low, or how South Korea had refused aid _again_ , or how Ecopoint: Antarctica had gone dark and they weren't sure whether it was a new wave of extra-hardy omnics or Talon or just a really bad storm. No discussion of inflation, or international incidents, or the latest British Prime Minister being a jackass, or the whole Doomfist mess.

He just... Wanted to talk. Maybe figure some things out. They'd been good for each other once, hadn't they? Maybe Jack would tell him things again instead of him having to find them out through insomnia-induced late night file perusals. Maybe he could get Jack to laugh again; the best medicine, when all other things failed.

The doors behind him opened; Gabriel stiffened, lifting his head up to listen. Heavy footsteps with a very slight limp, thick shoes on cold concrete. His breath caught when they stopped, a few meters away.

"Gabe?" Jack's voice was like music, even if it had gone thin and reedy from shock. Gabriel's chest ached as he realized Jack was surprised to see him. Had he given Jack reason to think that he wouldn't show up?

No, he hadn't. Jack was paranoid, doubting everything, afraid that even the most blatant advances were a trick. He'd been scared because of his own headspace's problems. Gabriel just hadn't been around to fix them lately. "Hey, sunshine," Gabriel said without looking back, amazed at himself and how quickly he'd shifted from bitterness and annoyance to softness and affection.

He could shift back just as easily, he knew. Just like he had around McCree. "I-- I thought you'd, I dunno, sneak into my suite later or something," Jack said. A few steps closer.

"Considered it," Gabriel told him. Turning around, Gabriel finally got a good look at Jack, silvered hair and all. The Strike Commander was in a dark blue suit with a tie, ribbons and medals and pins all down the front of his jacket. For a moment Gabriel forgot about the cold nipping at his face and fingers, caught up in how good Jack looked. "Figured I'd head back with you instead, if that's alright."

"No, no, that's. That's fine. Great. I, uh, I don't mind at all." Jack brought up a hand in an aborted gesture that looked suspiciously like he wanted to reach out and make sure Gabriel was real, using it instead to scratch at the faintly visible five-o-clock shadow on his chin. "I haven't eaten yet, though. So, uh..." He trailed off. "Dinner?"

Gabriel smiled. "Sounds good."

"Okay. Alright." Another couple of steps, and Jack was at his side. Close enough to touch, but those had already disappeared into pockets. Jack's eyes didn't linger on him long, darting around nervously as if afraid they'd be caught. Directly in front of the building that was the headquarters of the United Nations, the risk was all too real.

Both of them knew that. Yet it didn't stop Gabriel from leaning over, winding his arm through Jack's, hooking him in close. Sighing and leaning into him without preamble. "Fuck, it's cold out here." An excuse for Jack's benefit, because Gabriel knew that he always needed one.

It helped. Jack relaxed as soon as he heard it. "Wuss. It's not that bad. At least it's not snowing."

"Don't give the weather ideas, Jack."

Arm in arm, they walked down the steps and past security. Jack hailed a cab as Gabriel blew on his chilly fingers and grumbled. The mess in his head had settled, if only for a little while, and Jack was smiling.

Once they were in the cab, Jack dropped all pretenses and kissed Gabriel's cheek in the backseat. His lips were rough and chapped from the cold, and his stubble was unpleasantly scratchy, but there was something so genuine about it that Gabriel's heart ached. That's what they were when they were at their best: rough around the edges, but genuine. Real. Human. He hadn't quite realized just how much he'd missed it.

"Love you," Jack mumbled.

Gabriel huffed a laugh and squeezed Jack's hand in response; Jack's smile told him that was enough of one.

\---

Dinner was at the fancy restaurant on the ground floor of the fancy hotel Jack was staying in. Unlike Gabriel, Jack didn't have to pull any favors or make any calls to get in the door; all he had to do was smile the way he did in the posters, and they got a table right away. Service was prompt and the waitress was a polite girl with a head of dark, bouncing curls. Polite, because she smiled thinly and put on her service voice for the clearly important (and therefore disruptive) Jack.

But for Gabriel, she smiled for real. "And for you, Commander Reyes?" she asked.

He blinked at her. "Uh..."

"I read all about you in school," she told him. "There's a big spread in the hall with you and Captain Amari standing with an Overwatch flag."

"Oh, that one." Gabriel turned his head to give Jack a look, but the Strike Commander just pursed his lips in a look that said he was trying not to grin. "Didn't know it still got circulated."

"Why wouldn't it be? You're a hero." She said it like it was an undisputed fact. "Now, may I take your order?"

After she'd left, Gabriel stared at the table, then at Jack. Jack, who was smirking right back like he knew something Gabriel didn't. He was always smug when it came to knowing things, since that was usually Gabriel's area. This time, though, there was a hint of satisfaction about it-- like he'd been proven right.

"You don't come out to see it much," Jack said, "but the people-- they care about you."

"The UN doesn't seem to think so," Gabriel remarked.

Jack shrugged it off. "Off the record?" He waited until Gabriel nodded to continue. "To hell with the UN."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Yeah, well. There's a lot of things I don't say." Jack leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, sighing. "This whole thing's turning into a shitshow. What the people want Overwatch to be and what Overwatch actually _is_ have become two totally different things."

"I know, sunshine." For some reason, Gabriel felt like soothing him. Gathering him up in his arms and just-- but they were in a public place, and that wouldn't be proper.

Even though Jack looked like he needed it just as much as Gabriel wanted it. "It sucks, man. And then Angela's on my ass about how I've lost weight when I shouldn't, and Ana wants me to convince Fareeha not to join the army, and Reinhardt wants me to see if I can do anything about how the guys upstairs want him to retire."

"We could take a vacation," Gabriel suggested, but Jack waved it off.

"No time," he said. "Too much to do, too much riding on me all the damn time. Not that I don't want to, Gabe, it's just--"

"I know. It was just a thought."

Jack's lips quirked in a smile. "Heh. 'Just a thought', huh? Says the guy who dropped everything to come to New York in the winter when he hates the cold."

"I don't hate the cold. The cold hates me. It has it out for me, Jack, I'm telling you. Makes my hands hurt every time." A variation on an old joke, blaming inanimate objects or forces of nature for being annoying. One that still worked, because it still got a snicker out of Jack, a grin that the other soldier tried to hide by ducking his head. "I'm serious, though. If you need a break--"

"Yeah, I'll let you know." Jack's hands moved to the table, fidgeting with the napkin his silverware was wrapped in. Eventually plucking the napkin-ring off of the thing so he could toy with that instead. Thoughtful, distracted. "Who knows, might even take you up on it."

"If you don't, I might just go by myself." Gabriel met Jack's startled look with a bland one. "What? In case you haven't noticed, we kinda both need a break."

"Right, right. I just..." Jack seemed to scan his face, as if looking for signs that Gabriel was stressed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make it about me."

Things being about Jack took the pressure off Gabriel having to think about his own issues, though. "It's fine. Neither of us has been very good at listening lately."

"Or talking," Jack noted.

Gabriel nodded. Both their faults. "That too."

"I'm sorry."

"I--" Gabriel's chin fell against his chest, hands in his lap. Idly twiddling his fingers. Both of them were nervous. "Me too," he said eventually. "Sorry, that is."

That shocked Jack enough for him to stop fidgeting, leaning forward to stare. His eyes were so big and bright and full of concern. "Gabe, are... Are you okay?"

 _No_. He wasn't. He was so, so far from okay. The mess was starting to flood back, but in a different form; not anger, but something just as ugly. Just as much a thing that Jack didn't need to be exposed to. "I'll be fine," he said.

Something about that statement worried Jack even more. "What's wrong?"

Ana's voice was in the back of his head, telling him over and over to just say it. _Just talk to him_. That thing they kept failing to do, that led to them arguing that turned all the more bitter because Jack was being forced to advocate for a devil he didn't believe in, hands tied by how he still thought he could do some good in the world with his position, and Gabriel railing against the injustice of it every step of the way. They just needed to talk, on a level with each other. Gabriel, specifically, needed to say something.

He couldn't.

Jack took about five seconds to realize that before his jaw set in a firm line, and he stood from his seat. "Okay," he said. "That bad. I'll just, I'll get the food sent up to the room."

Gabriel sucked in a breath, let it out in a sigh. "You don't have to do that." He remembered the waitress, so polite, with her proud curls and slow look of recognition that lit up her face. It'd inconvenience her, along with the rest of the staff; the pushy, famous white guy that changed things up on them again.

But Jack shook his head, pulling the room key out of his pocket and handing it over. Then, as he walked past, putting his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Yes I do," he said. "Go. I'll meet you there." The tone of a commanding officer; normally, a thing he resented hearing from Jack.

This time, though, he resented the fact that he was relieved to follow that order even moreso.

 


	4. but the golden age is over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT so I may be posting this for the sole reason that my girlfriend is SICK and I want her to feel better because she is delightful. She doesn't get sick even a quarter as often as I do so she's not nearly as used to it and that makes both of us very sad. SO, time to post way too much fic for her to read while at work while hopped up on cold meds (if she's taken them, sometimes she doesn't and I have to frown at her).
> 
> sorry, I'll get back to ficcing now, have some floor pillow-nests and a 100% an adult Jack Morrison.

The room wasn't so much a room as it was a massive presidential suite, fit for a visiting king if the situation arose-- or, in this case, Overwatch's esteemed Strike Commander, one Jack Morrison. It was a little bit surreal to Gabriel, staying in a place that fancy. Hell, he and Jack had slept on cots, sleeping bags, even cold hard dirt. Yet here he was in a place with a bed so big it'd be a disservice to call it a mere king-size, a place so fancy that an entire wall was nothing but window looking out on the city below.

He didn't belong there. Neither did Jack. And the realization that this wasn't really where either of them was supposed to be, that it was honestly ridiculous compared to what both of them were comfortable with, helped calm him down somewhat. Somehow, the absurdity of it all made him feel less miserable about their respective situations.

Not that he felt quite right sitting down on anything, so when Jack knocked at the door, Gabriel didn't actually have to get up to go and open it for him. Convenient, that.

He was met with Jack's damned infectious smile. "Hey. Sorry for the wait." As if in explanation, he held up a tray with a number of steaming, delicious-smelling dishes. Their orders, brought up with as little inconvenience to the staff as possible. "Had to leave a tip. Dad always said ten percent, but I lean towards twenty."

"Boy scout," Gabriel teased, utterly smitten. He stepped aside to let Jack in, tray and all, and closed the door behind him. The old-fashioned mechanical lock slid home with a _click_.

"More like a fuck-you to my old man, may he rest in peace. Fundamental misunderstanding of economics and how tips work, gotta love it." Jack paused to look around for a moment, suddenly thoughtful. "--Mind if we, uh, sit on the floor? Can set some pillows out if y'like, just, bed's too soft for my back these days."

"Read my mind." Gabriel took the tray and set it down on the bed, moving to assist in de-cushioning every soft surface and sort out what was and wasn't fucking feather-down pillows, because those were goddamn awful. "Your old man died?"

Jack blinked. "Oh, yeah. While back. Kinda weird though, I was more upset by how _not_ upset I was than I was actually upset about him... Well, y'know, not being around anymore."

Maybe that explained the whole thing with the sleep aids. Leave it to Jack to lose sleep over how _little_ he could bring himself to care about something he'd been told he was supposed to care about. "How's your mom doing?" Gabriel asked.

"Good. Moved in with her sister, got a dog. And she's got my contact information in case anything happens, so..." Jack trailed off as another thought came to him. "Is it alright if I give her yours? I-I mean, in case I'm not available or something."

"It's fine, Jack." Pillows were set out, a coffee table was pulled up next to the makeshift floor-nest. Jack grabbed the tray and brought it over as Gabriel eased himself down, pulling off his boots and tossing them aside with only a marginal amount of care. "Better yet, ask Ana too. They got along, didn't they?"

Jack snapped his fingers. "Shit, you're right. Yeah, that's not a bad idea at all." He smiled as he plopped down next to Gabriel and pulled the table up closer to them both, careful not to elbow him while going for the silverware. "How come you're so good at that? Family stuff, I mean."

"Helps that I had two moms," Gabriel noted. While Jack went for the food first, Gabriel was the one to pour out the drinks. Two glasses of red wine; a proper drink for a proper date, eaten off of a coffee table while sitting on the floor. Because they were grown-ass men, and a lot of years ago they'd decided that being the grown-ass men they were meant they got to decide what being a grown-ass man actually meant. Gabriel snorted at the notion of the pair of them being adults as he gently sloshed the wine in his glass.

Meanwhile, Jack was pouring steak sauce on his mashed potatoes and mixing it into a ruddy brown glop in one corner of his plate. "You make it sound like two dads would fail miserably," he commented.

It sounded like a suggestion to Gabriel. "We're not exactly functional, Jack."

"Me? Maybe not. You? Definitely." He gestured with a bit of steak on his fork before using it to scoop the potato-glop. "Look at how well you did with McCree."

"I don't think that counts as parenting," Gabriel said; Jack just raised his eyebrow as he stuffed the lump of once-artfully-arranged food into his mouth, clearly unconvinced. "Come on, we're a little old for this discussion, aren't we?"

"Mmf. Mehvuhr." _Never_. Gabriel had to smile at the ridiculousness of it, at how Jack made it almost tempting just by being so-- so utterly _Jack_.

But it couldn't work, because Gabriel was-- he was just... What if he went off on a kid? A child, who was supposed to be under his care? He couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't happen, just like it had with McCree. Nor did he think he could take it if it did, the thought chilling him to his core. He didn't feel in control of himself at all, not anymore. How was he supposed to be trusted with anything of that magnitude?

Jack frowned, swallowing his bite before speaking. "Hey."

"Mm?"

"What's wrong?" He bumped his shoulder up against Gabriel's, caught his hand in a warm, firm grip. An echo of before, except more genuine; they were the only ones around to hear or see. "Off the record. It's okay."

Gabriel swallowed too, except it was against a lump in his throat that his words kept trying to catch on. Everything was threatening to spill over again, and it was a fight to not let his emotions overtake him. "I'm sorry," he croaked; it wasn't something Jack was ever meant to see.

And when Jack started babbling, Gabriel was reminded of why. "Hey, no. Don't apologize, okay?" He was taking Gabriel's hand, kissing it in a mirror of what Gabriel used to do to comfort Jack years prior. "Just, tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."

"Can't fix this." Then, finally: "I'm off my meds, Jack."

"You're--" Jack's brow furrowed in confusion. "So you've balanced out? You don't need them anymore?"

"No. I can't take them anymore. Something about blood toxicity, reduced liver function. The shit the SEP did to me could only put it off for so long." He'd known it was going to happen for years. It didn't make it any easier, or any less bullshit. Just admitting it left him shaking.

Jack being who he was, he wasn't much better just for having heard it. He let out an unsteady breath and leaned heavily into Gabriel's side, closing his eyes. "Jesus. I didn't even realize. I knew something was wrong when you called, but-- god _damn_."

"I shouldn't even be here," Gabriel said quietly. "I, I got pissed at McCree. He made a mistake on an op and I laid into him. Scared he'd get hurt, angry he'd let himself fuck up like that, angry at myself for letting it happen. Ended up just about scaring him shitless, stopped just shy of..." Of anything.

Because if he'd let himself go, he would have killed the poor kid. McCree didn't stand a chance against a super soldier, especially not one that was pissed off and out for blood just because his fucked-up brain had put him in that kind of mood. That was what scared him the most; that what the SEP had done to him would make him that much more dangerous when he got violent, that a manic moment would turn into a panic-inducing one.

"I could hurt you," he continued. "I don't know if I--"

"Shh, hey." Suddenly Jack was pressing two fingers to his lips, shushing him. Following it up quickly with a kiss that was so gentle and sweet it made something in his chest ache, especially since Jack surely had to bend at an awkward angle to manage it. "It's okay."

"It isn't--"

"Yeah, it is," Jack insisted, " 'cause I'm not scared, and I'm not ever gonna be. Y'know why?"

Gabriel didn't have an answer.

"Because _you_ , Gabriel Reyes, are the best damn person I've ever met." Jack wasn't smiling, determined and fierce in his sincerity. "And not once have you given me a reason to think that's gonna change."

He had to chuckle even though his eyes burned. Fucking ridiculous how much Jack trusted him. "Like hell I haven't."

"You haven't. And even if you did, you'd have to work pretty damn hard to get me to think otherwise." Jack kissed him again, decisive this time. Smiling when Gabriel leaned into it and reciprocated. He broke away triumphant, a gleam in his eyes. Like he'd won against Gabriel's inner demons. "You're not gonna break me. So don't let this break you, got it?"

Gabriel took in a steadying breath and nodded. "Alright."

"That's an order, Reyes."

"Hah." Cheeky bastard. "Yes _sir_."

"Better." Jack peeled himself away to go back to his food. "Now, dinner? We should catch a show later. I bet I could reserve us a seat."

"People book in advance for months to see shows on Broadway, y'know."

"Well, yeah, but what's saving the world a couple times over even good for if not for cheesing the booking on Broadway shows, right?"

Good point. "Depends on what's playing. If it's Hamilton, definitely."

"Alright, so if Hamilton, then yes. If anything else, play it by ear." Jack sounded like he was taking notes as he gestured with his fork before actually taking a bite of what was on it. "Anythin' else?"

"West Side Story would work too. Wicked, maybe." Then, "You're not trying to butter me up, are you?"

"No, I'm trying to make you feel less like shit by throwin' nice things at you until somethin' sticks." He seemed to be sticking to smaller mouthfuls and swallowing between sentences to keep himself slightly more coherent, but he still sounded muffled by virtue of the fact that he was talking around mashed potato. "S'it working?"

Gabriel huffed, leaning forward. Smiling as he picked up his utensils and started cutting into his own steak, probably gone a bit cold by then. "Yeah," he conceded. "Kinda." Translation: he felt better than he had in months. Even if nothing was fixed, Jack just being Jack had helped him feel almost calm, content, happy. Human. And in that moment, where the UN and politics and Talon and general bullshit were left by the wayside, just feeling somewhat human again was enough.

Maybe not enough to keep him going for forever, but enough for a little while.

 


End file.
